


Breath of Forgiveness

by IgnobleBard



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-06
Updated: 2011-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:24:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnobleBard/pseuds/IgnobleBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon the shores of the sea, Maglor ponders his fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath of Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Back to Middle-earth month on the Silmarillion Writer's Guild 2009.

A gentle rain falls upon the sea. So gentle that the small waves cause little foam as they roll in upon the tide. At the horizon the light is pale, washed out by the dark clouds that stretch endlessly above. I stand on a rocky outcrop above the beach, the rain soaking into my skin, plastering my black hair to my hollow cheeks.

‘Why do the clouds seek to fill that which never empties?’ I think idly. Would that my heart were as filled with joy, such that the rain of despair could not flood it.

I look past the lock of hair that covers my eye, glancing at the gulls flying overhead. Their screeching cries are especially harsh today and I know they will soon become screams, screams of the dying.

Closing my eyes brings images I cannot bear and so I keep them open, even in slumber. Every day I come here to look out upon the ocean and wonder if Ulmo would take me to his bosom should I walk beneath his silver waves. Every day I stand here, regarding the sea, until the stars begin to twinkle above and I must go hide from their benevolent light.

In my dreams Námo tells me all is forgiven and urges me to sail, but I know it is only a dream for the wind never touches me. Not even when the sea is stormy and the wind lashes the waves into fury. If the breeze ever caresses my face, stirs my hair, then will I begin to believe in forgiveness.

Yet, despite everything that has happened, despite the deaths I have grieved and caused, despite the remorse that lays waste to my spirit, my bitterest sorrow is that I can no longer sing. Sometimes I look at my two good hands and weep. If only my culpability was written upon my flesh, yet my voice was intact, I could pour my spirit into the sea, float with the clouds, water the earth with my most abject tears. But there is no music that can heal a shattered soul, and there is no closing the wounds we have inflicted upon others.

The pale light is now infused with gold, heralding the coming darkness, and I turn away. The clouds will hide the stars this night but I will know they are there, which positions they are in, how they will move through the sky in their inexorable paths. I cannot escape their sight. A breeze springs up, rippling through the tough grasses at my feet. I push the wet hair from my brow and lower my head, trudging home. Perhaps tomorrow I will find the courage to seek Ulmo’s favor.


End file.
